


Drop

by Filmsterr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Bottom Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Subdrop, Supportive Dean, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 04:39:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12856929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filmsterr/pseuds/Filmsterr
Summary: “What happened?”Everything about Dean is padded right now, insulated with softness and pity that only serves to make Castiel hate himself even more, hate that he’s made Dean act this way and hate that he resents him for it.Dean moves to take another hesitant step forward. Finally, a single word forms in Cas’ mouth.“Don’t.” It’s choked out, in the middle of two large breathes and he absolutely despises the way it sounds. He despises the sound of his own voice.He’s ruined everything. That’s that.





	Drop

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sophomore Slump](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8477116) by [jhoom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom). 



> Hey!! Something I think is really important: mental illness is not something to be glamorized, and one person is not going to be a cure-all for anyone else. That being said, I myself struggle with anxiety on varying levels everyday. I wrote this about my own experiences and the way I feel when I'm in a down place, and the fantasies that I have in my own damn head based on that. I wrote this for me, but I hope you guys like it to. 
> 
> Also, I imagine this story is somewhat inspired by one of my all-time favorite fics, "Sophomore Slump" by jhoom. I've linked to it here. 
> 
> Looking forward to hearing what you think. xoxo

Cas blinks his eyes open, and already the weight of the day sits heavy on his chest. 

He wouldn’t say that he ‘woke up’, per se, since that implies having slept at some point; and he doesn’t see how the hours spent tossing and turning in the bed alone last night constitute anything that comes close to rest.

It’s been like this for days. Morning after morning, and he can’t find the motivation to do anything as much as go for a walk. It’s _disgusting_. Pathetic. 

He is going to get out of bed, right now, he tells himself. It’s an easy thing to do. He’s going to do it. He’s _going_ to. 

With a sigh, Cas pulls the covers up to his neck and rolls his head in the direction of his night stand. The water glass from last night is empty. If he drinks some water, maybe the dryness in his throat will diminish, and he could try to say something out loud. He could call Dean. It would help, maybe. 

He breathes in deep through his nose, holds it in his chest until he feels the burn in his lungs, and then lets go. 

A hand slides under his pillow in search of his phone. When his fingers find the cool metal of its underside, he brings it close to this face and unlocks it with a swipe of this thumb. 

The screen is the same way he’d left it last, in the early hours of the morning. No more word from Dean. Nothing since yesterday morning, actually. 

A bad feeling swirls in Castiel’s stomach, and he tosses the phone onto the floor. He has about a thousand pictures of things Dean might be doing instead of missing him and none of them are making him feel very good. 

This is the downside to letting yourself get so attached to someone. Before Dean, Cas didn't have anyone who cared about him, which was great because it meant he didn't have anything to lose. Now if he goes a day without talking to Dean it feels like this big chunk is missing out of him and he starts worrying that...

Cas takes a second to pause. He's getting wrapped up again. There's no need to go spiraling out of control and picturing things that only upset him further. 

Dean is probably really busy. He’s working, after all. He's on a _work_ trip. He's on long days, at the end of each he's exhausted as all hell. He's _told_ Castiel this himself. Cas should be more understanding, less selfish. Dean deserves that. He deserves more than that. More than Cas can give him, probably.

And anyway, Cas doesn’t want to talk to Dean right now. Well, he does, desperately- but he doesn’t want Dean to see, or hear, this. This state he’s in right now. He’s… he’d be too obvious, too mopey. It wouldn’t be good. Sounding like a lazy, depressed slob of a human isn't going to make anyone fall in love with you. 

If this time is like the others, it will be gone in a few days. Maybe less. 

 _Just get up. Do it. It’s not hard_. 

Only after he feels the sharpness of his dry throat does he finally convince himself to shed the comfort of his duvet and shuffle his way into the kitchen. He carries his phone with him in his hand, rereading the last several days worth of messages from Dean.  

\-- _This hotel room is pretty ritzy. Wish you were here with me._

_\-- I guess it’s nice to sleep without frozen toes pressing up against me. ;P_

_\-- Wyoming is weird. I think you’d like it. Maybe we can come back sometime._  

He wants to smile as his eyes glaze over the screen, but instead he just swallows thickly. He goes to the sink and turns the tap, and then stands there as he gulps down three full glasses.

Why is he like this? His boyfriend goes away for a week and he crumbles into this weak, sad little thing. He’d been doing so good lately. He shouldn’t…

His inner monologue trails off when he turns toward the fridge and notices a note hanging there, stuck under their novelty magnets that reads _I Wuv Hugs_. That magnet was a gift from Jo that seemed to stem from an inside joke between her and Dean. That almost manages to pull a smile onto Castiel’s face, but he’s too distracted by the chicken scratch on the paper to follow through. 

_I’ll be home tonight. Be ready for me, like a good boy._

Dean… Dean had been home? Why didn’t he wake Castiel? Why didn’t he tell him, or text him, or come into the room or…. 

Castiel’s heart starts to pound in his ears. He clenches his eyes shut. _Stop it. Stop it._

This is… nothing to be concerned about. Dean is trying to be nice. He wants to surprise Castiel. It’s thoughtful of him. Jesus, Cas needs to learn to appreciate things like this. If he doesn’t, Dean is going to get tired of him pretty quick, that’s for damn sure. 

The rapid movement of his heart starts to relent, and Castiel can breathe once more. Dean is back in town, that’s wonderful. If he’s home, then that means all… this is over. Cas can start to feel better now, to go back to normal. 

And from the looks of the note, it seems he wants to have a little fun. Yes, some good sex. That’s perfect for Castiel. Exactly the thing he needs to fix everything inside him. There’s nothing Cas loves more than being manhandled by Dean, thrown around and dirty talked and-- just the thought has him shivering. 

He takes the note from the fridge and rubs it between his fingers. For the first time in several days, he feels a smile prickling at his lips.

With the thought of Dean and their impending sexual adventure in mind, Castiel musters up enough energy to tidy the apartment a bit, with the emphasis on the bedroom; that had been the central location of his wallowing in self pity, he wants fresh sheets for Dean’s arrival that don’t make him feel like he might start crying at the drop of a hat.

All told, he finishes cleaning in the afternoon, takes a quick, thorough shower, and he spends the rest of the time sitting on the couch with his laptop, catching up on shows he hadn’t been able to watch when he was feeling down. 

He even manages to eat a bowl of noodles. It feels good. Really good. 

At five o’clock, he hears a sound from behind him, and jumps on the couch. An excitement prickles inside. “Dean?” he asks, a sense of thill in his voice. Just as he turns around to see, a pair of rough, calloused hands slip over his eyes and the world goes dark. 

“Hello, handsome.”

Cas rips the hands away from his face, too excited to have Dean back again. He stands to his feet and rushes to Dean. He wants to hug him and kiss him and bury his face into his neck to steady himself. When did he become so codependent? Screw it, doesn’t matter, he’s too happy to have his boyfriend back. 

As he approaches Dean, though, he sees the light-hearted grin on his boyfriend’s face turn hard. He looks serious, and Cas nearly trips over himself at the suddenness of the change. Then Dean grabs him by the hand and yanks him in, and the next thing Castiel knows he’s received a firm smack on the ass.

Relief floods through him. 

Dean is teasing him. They’re being playful. They’re good at this. Castiel holds back a smile when Dean brings his face right in close next to Cas’ own. 

“You been a good boy for me while I was gone?” His words are low and gruff, more than a little sexy in how intimidating they are. Already Cas feels a stiffening in his pants. 

Another smack, a tiny gasp from Castiel. The lightness in his own voice flickers, but the pleasant heat on his neck returns quickly. “Yes, Dean. I didn’t even…” 

“Didn’t even what, baby?” Dean leans in close to his ear, his hot breath breezing over Castiel’s skin.

A pause as a Castiel struggles to get the words out. The air hangs between them, thick with tension, for a long moment until he finally manages to murmur, “t… touch myself.”

He looks up to see Dean’s reaction to the confession, and it’s overwhelming. An incredible, dark lust has glazed over Dean’s eyes, changing them from their usual cheerful verdant green into almost total black. His tongue darts out along his lips as a his grip tightens on Castiel’s hip. “That’s what I like to hear,” he encourages, and the approval in his voice sends a rush into Cas’ blood, “And you’re gonna be good now, isn’t that right?” 

Before Castiel can respond in the affirmative (he’s _always_ a good boy for Dean), a final slap lands on his ass, harder this time, enough to make him wince before he straightens himself back out. No need to act like a baby. He can take it. 

Cas is happy to be here. He loves the way he feels when he’s under Dean’s hand, when his boyfriend stares down at him with those lust-blown eyes and he feels like he was hand-chosen by the sexiest man he’s ever seen, feels honored to serve Dean in this and any other way he can. 

Truth be told, right now he feels himself looking forward a bit more to the after, to when Dean will pull him into his arms and tell him how good he did and nuzzle little kisses all over his face and neck and shoulders… but he can do this, too. It’s a trade-off, give a little bit to Dean so he can get a little in return. 

Suddenly, Dean’s hand pushes down on his shoulders and Cas falls roughly onto his knees. The same hands moves quickly, grabbing at Cas’ chin and forcing it right up against the crotch of Dean’s jeans. 

It’s hot and dirty, and it makes Castiel feel a little cheap. Which is ridiculous, because they do these kinds of things all the time, and Cas is still turned on by it, so he doesn’t know why he balks at the sensations on Dean’s zipper on his cheek. 

 _Deep breaths_ , he tells himself. He’s working himself up just like he had been all week, only now Dean is here and the idea of him seeing Castiel in one of his low states is absolutely unacceptable, so he just needs to take a deep breath and calm down. 

He’s in the midst of trying to do that when, without warning, the entire length of Dean’s cock is shoved in his mouth, making breathing somewhat impossible. He clamps his eyes tight, counting silently to ten and trying to force himself into relaxing. 

He wants to enjoy this. He wants to feel that burning, aching desire that he normally gets when Dean’s thrusting carelessly into his face. He knows his missed this while Dean was away. He _knows_ he did. 

But thought spur him from the outside, chip away at that sensation of desire and turn it into worry. Why hadn’t Dean kissed him when he came in? Why didn’t he hug Cas or tell him he missed him? 

It’s stupid. Cas has never complained before and he has no reason to start today. It’s… it should be fine. Castiel should trust Dean. 

But it’s not fine, it’s not. He feels himself go limp in Dean’s hands, no longer an active participant in the sex. Nothing more than just a warm hole for Dean to stick his dick.

Maybe that’s all he wants, anyway. 

Cas squeezes his eyelids shut and forces the tears to stay in, steeling himself to recommit to this blowjob. He needs to make this good for Dean; needs to give him a reason to hold onto Castiel. If he can just get Dean to come, they can get to the cuddling and kissing and everything will be fine. Dean never needs to know. 

If Dean left him, Cas has no idea what would become of him. Which is even more pathetic, given that they’ve only been together for a few months. Such a short time and he’s already spineless and dependent. 

A patch of his hair is woven between Dean’s fingers as he tugs at the root. 

If Dean rejected him, he’d probably turn into even more a lifeless shell than he already has in the past week. Imagining it makes him feel sick. 

Even if Dean only wanted him for sex, Castiel would stay. He’d stay, because he’ll take any excuse to get to be close to Dean. 

But he’d be heartbroken. There’s so many things he likes about Dean, even loves about him (as terrifying as that is to admit). To think that in return all Dean sees him as is a play thing… The thought makes him gag, literally, and he has to finally free himself from Dean’s grip on his hair and neck.

He lurches back, an alternating battle between dry-heaving and gasping for air waging in his throat. His eyes are open, so full of tears that he can’t see a damn thing anyway. 

_Why? Why can’t he just be better at this?_

“Cas?”

Dean’s voice is soft and wavering, something like panic creeping in from the outside edges. 

“Babe? Are you okay? Did I… I hurt you?”

Through the wetness in his eyes, Castiel can see Dean approaching in his peripheral. It’s ridiculous, the kicked-puppy expression on his face even while his hard dick is still flailing around outside his pants. But still, Cas doesn’t find any humor in it. He pulls back like Dean’s approaching with a weapon, launches himself backward across the floor. 

 _Oh no. Now you’ve gone and done it._  

Dean takes a step back and holds his hands in the air, a gesture of surrender. A million words sit at the tip of Cas’ tongue and yet not a single one comes out. 

The air in the room turns to ice, the energy gone from a hundred to zero dangerously quick. Cas on one side of the room, huddled like a wounded animal, and Dean on the other side, unable to move. 

“What happened?” Everything about Dean is padded right now, insulated with softness and pity that only serves to make Castiel hate himself even more, hate that he’s made Dean act this way and hate that he resents him for it. 

Dean moves to take another hesitant step forward. Finally, a single word forms in Cas’ mouth. 

“Don’t.” It’s choked out, in the middle of two large breathes and he absolutely despises the way it sounds. He despises the sound of his own voice. 

He’s ruined everything. That’s that.  

He keeps his eyes trained on the floor, refuses to let Dean see the tears in his eyes, the red splotches surely convering his face. That just feels like it would be the final nail in the coffin. Add insult to injury. 

Castiel stands unsteadily to his feet; the one thing he knows right then is that he has to get out of that room. He opens his mouth. “I n-need-- I can’t--”

A hand catches him on the elbow, and Cas wrenches himself away as forcefully as he can. This was a mistake. All of it, this was all…

He takes off for the bedroom. He has no interest in watching Dean’s face contort into confusion, revulsion; to watch him fall out of love with Castiel in one fell swoop. This may be Dean’s apartment, but Cas has no other options. He has nowhere to go. 

He doesn't take the time to close the door, just hides himself under the covers- _Dean’s_ covers, not even his own- wrapping them around him until it feels like there’s no space left around him. No place for the bad thoughts to inhabit. Just him and his hot breath, trapped under there with him, which soon makes the air thick and his skin clammy.

Cas closes his eyes, wills himself to fall asleep. He hopes that Dean will go. Leave the apartment, give him time to wallow a bit longer, try to make himself better.

He also wants Dean to stay, wants him to barge in and grab Cas and whisper in his ear that he’s loved and precious. He was both of these at the same time, and he also fears them, and it makes Cas feel like being alive is too much to handle. 

After a long moment, when Castiel’s inner monologue is at its crescendo, the sound the door creaking open hits his ears. He stills his breath, holding the air in his lungs. He waits.

A few delicate foosteps pad across the floor. “Cas?”

He releases his breathe, and at the same time he feels a stray tear slipping from his eye. He wishes that it wasn’t like this. He wishes that Dean’s homecoming could have fun and normal instead of whatever depressing display this is. 

“Cas?” Dean tries again, inching closer to the bed. “Will you let me apologize? Please?”

A tentative dip on the side of the bed. Castiel pulls further into himself, curling into the fetal position for comfort. Dean shouldn’t have to apologize. He should have a boyfriend who appreciates everything he does, who doesn’t pull a sobbing fit for no reason at all the first time he sees him in a week. 

Above his nose, the blanket shifts ever so slightly. A finger is trying to pull on the material. “Castiel? Can I see your face, please?”

No movement from under the comforter. Dean releases a sigh into the room. He must be exasperated. Cas thinks this must be him giving up. Any second now, the bed will squeak again she he stands up, and he’ll kick Cas out of the bed and tell him to go find somewhere else to stay…

But that doesn’t happen. Instead, a hand comes to rest on his calf, gently laying itself on top of the blankets. Comforting, but not invasive. But it’s presence is powerful, it sends a message to Castiel that he doesn’t know how to put into words. 

“I think,” Dean announces, with a bit of a laugh to it; a sad laugh, like he’s mad at himself, “that I’ve made a complete ass of myself.”

 _He’s_ made an ass of _him_ self? The idea of that is almost enough in itself to spur Castiel into action, to make him sit up and start protesting the idea of Dean having any fault in the situation. 

But he doesn’t. He stays still, regulates his breathing, anxious to listen to where Dean is going with this. 

“I just missed you much this week.” 

Well, that feels nice. Cas is at once comforted by the assurance and even more angry at all the energy he wasted thinking that Dean had forgotten all about him. 

The hand on his calf begins to stroke gently up and down. Dean continues, “So fucking much. Cas, you wouldn’t believe… if I told you the way I fucking ached for you this week, you’d think I was some insane, creepy stalker person.”

Despite everything, despite the pressures of the major depressive episode he feels closing in around him, Castiel feels his heart give a few joyful flutters at that. 

“I thought it would be, like, fun and sexy to surprise you. I knew you were missing me too, and I thought it would be cool to try something new,” another nagging guilt plants itself in Castiel’s mind, but before it can take root, Dean adds, “But I should have checked with you first. I mean, I just barged in and jumped headfirst into this thing without even warning you.”

Cas holds back from pointing out that Dean had, in fact, warned him with the note left on the fridge. That clearly wasn’t the point of what Dean was trying to say. 

Dean lowers his voice and drops all pretenses. He isn’t begging, and he isn’t patronizing Castiel. He is just asking a question. “Can I get a do-over?”

Slowly, timidly, the covers are pealed back from Castiel face. He peaks out from behind them, both scared and calmed now by the thought of looking Dean in the eye.

Dean is looking down at him from the other end of the bed. When Castiel offers a slight nod, ever so minutely moving his head up and down, Dean smiles at him so wide it’s like half the load is instantly lifted off his shoulders. With slow movements, so as not to alarm Castiel, Dean shifts his body, and delicately lays himself down next to the lump of blankets that cover Castiel.

His pants are unbuttoned, but other than that, he is still fully clothed. It must be a funny sight: Cas, wrapped in a cocoon, hair a mess, eyes red rimmed and wet. Dean looking as beautiful as ever, though a little tired, and like a teenage boy ready for his first hand job rather than a man whose just been rejected.

From the pillow beside his, Dean is gazing at Castiel with eyes that could only be called adoring. A little bit of the self hate in Castiel washes away. Dean speaks in the softest voice imaginable. “Hello, Cas. I love you. How was your week?”

Cas involuntarily sucks in a big breath of air. They haven’t said _I love you_ very many times. It still carries a lot of weight. He feels that it should have a calming presence on him, but instead it makes his hairs stand on end. 

He stares at Dean, his eyes still swollen with so many tears. “I’m sorry,” he croaks out from his dry throat, and as he does fresh tears spring to his eyes. 

“Hey, hey,” soothes Dean, reaching a hand out to his boyfriend, “What do you have to be sorry about? I’m the idiot who came home from a week away and immediately shoved my cock down your throat.”

A wet, snotty laugh comes from Castiel as he reaches up to wipe his nose. It's hollow, but restorative. “No, you were trying to be spontaneous and fun… and I ruined it. I’m sorry, Dean, you don’t deserve that--”

Dean holds up a hand to block Castiel in his tracks. “Stop it. Just, stop that.”

Cas listens. He bites down on his lip to stop the words from coming out, perhaps a bit too hard. Cautiously, Dean stretches over his hand and run his thumb over Castiel’s mouth, coaxing his teeth from the lower lip. Castiel blushes, embarassed that Dean’s seen so much of his self-doubt already this evening. 

But Dean just tilts his head slightly, almost inquisitive, as if to ask, _why would you want to hurt yourself?_

It’s a funny expression coming from someone who was just wailing on Castiel’s ass a few moments before. But it’s sweet. It makes Castiel want to stop biting his lip, if only for Dean's sake.   

Dean lifts up the blanket, and looks to Castiel with his eyebrows raised, asking permission to come underneath. Cas wants to remind him that it's _his_ bed and he can do whatever he wants in it… but he decides not to say anything. He nods his head and watches intently as Dean wriggles in closer. The blanket is draped over the two of them, only their heads exposed to the fresh air. 

His hands search for Castiel’s. When they find them, Dean began to stroke his fingers over Castiel’s knuckles. It feels so, _so_ good that Cas thinks he might explode from the back and forth going on inside his head, the ping-ponging of his mental state. 

If there’s one thing that’s been made clear today, it’s in no way does he deserve the amount of love that Dean is ready to give him. 

But he can try to be better. He can try to be worthy. The first step towards that, probably, is being a little bit more honest. 

Cas focuses his eyes on the place where Dean’s fingers are wrapped around his. “I should have told you,” he mutters, sounding a little embarrassed that he’s been so silly, “that I was feeling like this.”

Dean scoots himself closer, still watching Castiel with eyes that betray not a single hint of dishonesty. “You don’t have to tell me anything, not if you don’t want to.”

Cas squirms under his gaze. He doesn’t normally let himself get to a point where he feels so vulnerable around someone. It’s disarming, and leaves him completely at Dean’s mercy. And even though Dean really seems to be stepping up to the plate, Castiel feels uneasy with his newfound weakness. 

He catches Dean’s eyes quickly and immediately has to look away again. “I’m like this sometimes. I… I thought I was better, since we’ve been…. I haven’t felt this way since I’ve known you.” Best to lay it all out on the table. No room for misconceptions. “It can be a lot to handle.”

Dean just leans down and presses his lips ever so softly to the place where his fingers are grazing Cas’ skin. “We can manage it,” he promises, and he sounds so earnest that it’s impossible to argue with, “Seems more than worth it to me.”

Cas takes in a deep breathe and then exhales. It certainly doesn’t feel that way to him. 

He holds Dean’s gaze for several seconds and it makes him feel both complete and shaking with fear. 

Dean moves his hands further up Cas’ body, rubbing his forearms, his shoulders, until he’s got his arms around Cas’ waist and can pull him in tight. There’s nothing sexual at all to his touch, for which Castiel feels surprisingly grateful. Being held by Dean, knowing that Dean wants to comfort him, is one of his absolute favorite sensations in the whole world. 

“What do you think about a shower?” Dean murmurs into Cas’ ear after a good long while has gone by. The suggestion teeters between seductive and tender. 

“I already took a shower earlier.”

“But you didn’t take one with me. C’mon, a little hot water, it’ll do good to relax you.”

As usual, Dean is right. He leads Castiel by the hand toward the bathroom, and as he does the fleeting thought comes to Cas how glad he is that Dean doesn’t have roommates. Today’s display certainly would have been amplified by about one hundred degrees in terms of burning humiliation if anyone else had been privy to it. 

Dean takes his time in undressing Cas, hands sliding over curves of skin, his lips brandishing soft kisses over several different sensitive areas. It lacks fire, but the passion is still evident; like Dean is stoking a low burning fire, just enough to keep the two of them warm.

After the shower, Dean takes a towel and dries Castiel off, head to foot. While on the one hand it felt vaguely insulting to be treated like a child, he has to admit that on a much larger scale it feels like absolutely the right thing. He enjoys being taken care of by Dean, with every fiber of his being; and, perhaps even more, he enjoys watching how much Dean seems to like taking care of him.

Once he’d been wrapped in a bathrobe, Dean takes Cas into the kitchen. He sits him down in a chair and sets about searching through the cabinets scouring what food is left. Not much, Castiel imagines, as he’d probably cleared it out while his depression kept him locked in the apartment for the last week. 

“You know, maybe we oughtta think about you living here on a more permanent basis.”

Castiel scoffs. “I don’t think you could have picked a worse time to bring up that subject.”

Dean places a box of pasta onto the counter and shrugs. “Why not? Your lease is up, you don’t have anywhere else to go, and you sleep here every night anyways. You might as well unpack your shit.”

Cas toys with the string of his bathrobe. _Yes,_ he wants to desperately to add, _but what happens when you get sick of me?_

He watches the floor in front of his feet intently and he isn’t surprised when two more feet step into view. Once again, Dean’s hands are on his chin, but this time considerably softer when they move his gaze upward to match Dean’s. “I’m just saying if we miss each other so much when we’re apart, we might as well try and not be apart.”

Cas wishes he had a blanket to pull over himself again. Dean’s flattering him, probably on purpose, and he knows that his cheeks are turning bright pink. “I don’t have a job,” he mutters under his breathe, begging for Dean not to agree with him, “I wouldn’t be able to help with the rent.”

“You’re not helping now.”

Dean shoots it back, casually, like it might as well have been your shoe’s untied. Yet still, Cas winces. The truth is he _isn’t_ contributing, and even if Dean doesn’t mind that right now, Cas does. He already hates the image of himself as a freeloading sadsack, but the idea of Dean being saddled to that useless, depressed lump of a boyfriend? Oh no. 

Bad feelings start trickling back in, and suddenly he feels thoughts scraping at him that he knows are stupid, things he know can’t be true. He sees times ticking by, resentment building, Dean kicking him out, himself left with nothing. He closes his eyes one more time, wishing that he were back in the bed, or maybe somewhere else entirely, maybe he should-- 

“Cas?” A hand laid gently on his forearm halts Cas to attention. He hadn’t noticed, until now, the tightness in his chest. His eyes flutter open and he sees Dean there, in front of him, waiting for him. 

When will this end?

Dean is looking at him so softly. “Can you take a breath for me, babe?”

With a pinched expression, Cas nods. _This is not helping, this is not helping…_ But Dean’s hand is steady on his chest, and it keeps him grounded enough that he can forced himself to breathe in and out and timed puffs. 

They wait a few moments, until Castiel is fully calmed down again. He tries to apologize (once more) to Dean, who won’t have any of it. He just runs his over Castiel’s arms,  “I think… you might be in a bit of a rough patch, right now. I’d like it you to let me help you through it. I’d like to be allowed to take care of you until you’re on the other side.”

“It’s not your job to take care of me, Dean.” Cas doesn’t want to be in a relationship where one of them is indebted to the other. He doesn’t want to hold Dean back from living his life to its fullest extent. 

The smile Dean cracks is innocent and earnest. “Yeah, it is,” he says softly. And, damn it, it sounds like a really means it. “Or, if it isn’t, it’s something I want to do. I want you to trust that I love you enough to see you through this.”

There he goes again, passing out declarations of love like they’re halloween candy. Cas reflexively flinches at the words, but he forces himself to relax. 

“I can hold your hand through it, if you want, or I can just give you space to figure it out on your own.” Dean is still on his knees at Castiel’s feet. He brings Cas‘ hand, skin rough and nails chewed-off from anxiety, to his lips and gently kisses at the knuckles. “But either way, at least I’ll be there at the end of the day to ask you how you’re feeling and lay by your side in bed.”

Of course that sounds nice. It’s not as if Cas wants anyone else, or anything more than just Dean, exactly as he is. But he’s scared. “Dean, even if… this isn’t just a one time thing.” He wrings his hands, eyes trained downward. “Even when I… come out of it, it’s going to happen again. It’s a part of me. It’s not one I like, but it’s a part of me.”

“Yes, and I love you. I want to be with you, and that means all of you.” The determination in Dean’s voice forces Castiel to confront himself. He’s trying to make this fail, trying to push Dean away before he can drop Cas like a hot potato. If he could choose though, if he felt that he didn't have to be scared for the future... well that would be all the better. Because actually, Cas _likes it_ that Dean refuses to be scared, he likes that Dean thinks he’s important enough to stick around for. He’s surprised as all hell, but in a good way.

A half-cocked grin appears on Dean’s face, like he can tell that he’s reaching a turning point with Cas. He rests one hand on each of Castiel’s knees and looks up at him with unreserved adoration. He proclaims confidently, “Look, I know we haven’t been dating very long, and I’m sure this all sounds like a bunch of hyped-up, over romantic mumbo jumbo. But I’m the kind of guy that when I see something I like, I stick to it. I only wear once pair of jeans. You’ve seen me with my car.”

His smile breaks out a little wider, especially when Cas starts to bear his teeth in a tiny, just barely delectable hint of a smile. 

“What I’m saying is, I’m sticking to you. If you want me too.”

There’s nothing Castiel wants in the world more than that. But there’s this block. This disconnect between his head and his heart and his mouth, and between the backtracking in his brain and the words dying off in his throat, it feels like he’s about to short circuit. He looks at Dean, helpless and silent. He hopes he’s not scaring him off. He prays that’s not the case.

“Why don’t you take a bit to think it over? We’ll take a week, sleep on it, and on Sunday if you don’t hate the idea, we’ll unpack your shit.”

There’s nothing else to say or do. “Alright, Dean. We’ll do that.”

Dean leans back in his chair, seemingly relieved. “Okay… can I cook you some pasta?”

"Give me a kiss. Then you can cook me pasta."

Dean happily obliges, walking back over towards the table with a new confidant swagger in his step. He leans down and kisses Castiel on the lips, taking his time to wrap his fingers around Cas' jaw and let his lips meet Castiel's with a relaxed ease. When he pulls back at last, he presses another kiss onto Castiel's nose and then turns  back the the stove. Castiel watches his boyfriend go about his task, and he feels a lump of an emotion far more appealing swelling in his chest. 

He's not better yet, but he's on his way there. 

On Sunday, they unpack Castiel’s things.


End file.
